


Crowmunism (Part 1)

by AJ_1712



Series: Crowmunism [1]
Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28117803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJ_1712/pseuds/AJ_1712
Summary: With Season 8 over and the Election approaching, Hewitt Best of the Kansas City Breath Mints and Yeong-Ho Garcia of the Yellowstone Magic attend Hlomecoming in Dallas.
Relationships: Yeong-Ho Garcia/Hewitt Best
Series: Crowmunism [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2059818
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Crowmunism (Part 1)

**S8, Post D99**

  
“But… It’s Hlomecoming!” Marco Stink whined.

“You say that like it’s supposed to mean something, Marco.” Hewitt Best responded, neither moving from his sprawled out position on the couch nor looking away from the television. “This is the first one they’ve ever done.”

“It’s in Dallas! You can come meet all my old friends!” Marco continued.

This made Hew stop and think for a moment. Marco was new to the team, having only feedbacked with former Mint player Dickerson Morse on day 63 of the newly-over regular season. The idea of seeing Dickie again certainly sounded… Nice. However, the idea of seeing Dickie outside of a blaseball game for the first time in over 100 days at a _dance_ made Hew nervous enough he almost broke a sweat, so he managed to garner up some resolve.

“If you want to see them just go, dude. I don’t see why I have to.” Hew said, finally sitting up to face his pacing roommate.

“People told me that that’s called ‘going stag’! I can’t be a stag beetle! I’m a stink bug!” Marco exclaimed, waving his numerous arms in the air.

“That’s what you’re worried about? That’s not even-”

“I’m Marco Stink!”

“I just… C’mon, Marco. It’s been a long season, and I’m tired, and I wouldn’t have anything to wear anyways, and-”

“Psh!” A raspy cry of exasperation came from the other side of the apartment as the closet door opened. “Nothing to wear? It’s a blaseball event! It’s not like there’s a dress code.”

“Leach?” Hewitt called out to the figure emerging from the closet.

“Hi, Leach!” Marco exclaimed.

“Hey, Marc. You talk him into it yet?” Undead Mints pitcher Leach Ingram asked, stumbling out of the closet and brushing the dirt off her well-worn leather jacket.

“No!” Marco answered with his signature out-of-place enthusiasm.

“Leach,” Hewitt said, standing up to face his teammate. “For the millionth time, you can just tell us when you’re staying over and we’ll set up the couch. You don’t have to sneak in and sleep in the closet.”

Leach raised a finger as a sign to ‘Hold on’, and took a deep, lengthy inhale from her vape. As she spoke, ignoring what Hew had just said, clouds of smoke billowed from her mouth and eyeholes.

“Look, will you take the damn bug to the dance before he asks me?” Leach asked dismissively.

“Well,” Hew responded, arms outstretched. “Why _don’t_ you take him? I know you’ll want to go and do something unspeakable on the snack table.”

“Kid,” Leach responded, unamused. “There’s one entity in this universe who I go to dances with. And unless he pulls a Hotdogfingers and knocks on this door before I’m out the window and on my bike, I’m riding solo.”

“Why the window? Just use the-” Hew began.

“Sh.” Leach shushed her teammate.

Leach stared longingly at the door for a moment, before letting out a deep sigh, crossing the apartment in silence, and crawling out onto the fire escape through the window and heading down the metal stairs with many a loud _clang_ and mumbled curse word.

“Bye, Leach!” Marco shouted with jarring glee before closing the window and turning back to his roommate. “Hewitt! Come to the dance with me! There could be… Landlords to abolish!”

“Was… Was that you trying to convince me?” Hewitt asked, getting his answer in the form of aggressively enthusiastic, affirmative nodding. “Why would there be…? I mean, yeah, landlords are parasites but... It's private property laws and the rent system in its entirety that… Fine. I’ll go.”

“Yay!” Marco shouted with ecstatic hopping and clapping 

“It’s just before the election, right?”

“Yeah! We have all the postseason to find you something to wear!”

“Well,” Hew said with defeat. “Not like we have anything better to do.”

* * *

**S8, Day 109**

“Well... How do I look?” Yeong-Ho Garcia asked.

“Looking sharp, splort!” Francisco Preston, Yellowstone Magic’s team captain and Dad, responded. “Great dress. Where’d you find it?”

“Bevan had it.” Yeong-Ho explained. “I, uh, didn’t feel the need to ask for details.”

Dad let out a hearty chuckle and put his hand on Yeong-Ho’s shoulder

“Good call.” He said. “Y’know, Curry is gonna blow her top when you skip pitching practice to go to a dance.”

“Curry blows her top at me when I _don’t_ skip pitching practice, Dad.” Yeong-Ho says, dejectedly. “If she’s gonna shout at me either way I might as well go have a good night.”

“Look, I know Curry has a temper, but it’s because she cares about the team.” Dad says, moving his hand to YHG’s other shoulder to hold them in a snug half-hug. “We had a _bad_ season. Tied for first to Partytime with those nice kids from Kansas City.”

“I know, I know...” YHG affirms, lowering their head.

“Sure you don’t want another night to work out the kinks on that new changeup of yours?” Dad asked.

“Oh, come on!” YHG shouted, pushing Dad away. “You think I’m the problem too!”

“Everyone is the problem right now, kid. I didn’t mean nothing by it.”

“But it’s not everyone! It’s me! And you’re all still mad that I’m not as good as your Yeong-Ho! It’s not my fault I was a batter in-“

“Hey.” Dad said, stepping forward and cutting them off. “You _are_ our Yeong-Ho. So stop that fool talk right now.”

Yeong-Ho stood there, arms crossed and pouting off to the side.

“I didn’t mean to come off like that,” Dad continued. “Just put my foot in my mouth. Forgive an old man his blunders.”

Yeong-Ho scoffed.

“You’re not that old, Presto.” Yeong-Ho said.

“Tell that to my back in the morning, champ.” Dad quipped back, drawing a smirk, eye roll, and an exhale from the nose of the young pitcher. “Besides, you can’t possibly be our worst pitcher... We have Cory on the team.”

Yeong-Ho’s mood instantly lightened and he began to burst out laughing before swiftly covering his mouth with his hand.

“Dad!” YHG said, exasperated, still covering his mouth. “You can’t say stuff like that! Cory tries Cory’s hardest!”

“Hey,” Dad said with a jolly laugh. “I certainly said it a lot nicer than Curry does. Or Coach Alf... Or Cory’s lifetime records.”

Yeong-Ho held back a laugh as he took an awkward-looking upside down seat on a nearby chair, with his back on the seat and his feet draped up and over the backrest.

“Gods, we’re a bit of a mess, aren’t we?” YHG asked.

“Yeah, but it’s our mess.” Dad chuckled. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ve definitely got the right idea. Might as well go have a good night.”

“Yeah, well,” YHG said with a large sigh. “Someone has to keep an eye on Inky. He has insisted on not leaving the Blagonball at home.”

“Of course he has.” Dad responded. "Don't worry, I'll be there for backup."

"So will Dadley, right?" Yeong-Ho asked, looking up with a smug grin.

"Watch it, kid..." Dad responded.

* * *

**S8, Pre-Election**

All travel and accommodations had been provided for jointly by the Dallas Steaks ownership and the ILB, but Max Betmint had still insisted all attending Breath Mints share a hotel room to save money. Hewitt had quietly changed into his new suit, and snuck out in the commotion of Leach throwing the TV out of the window “because that’s the rock and roll thing to do” and drunkenly instigating a fight with Rodriguez Internet that Winnie Hess was working to break up. He cautiously closed the door, and turned to his left to see PolkaDot Zavala and Pudge Nakamoto chatting in the hallway.

“Hey, Hew.” PolkaDot greeted him. “Glad you managed to avoid that nonsense too.”

“Eh, it’s just Leach being Leach.” Hew responded, taking a few steps to stand closer to his teammates. “One of the fundamental laws of the universe.”

“Hi, Hewitt!” Pudge exclaimed in his sweet, squeaky voice. “You look nice!”

“Oh. Uh, thanks Pudge.” Hew answered, looking down and softly kicking his foot.

“Are you feeling alright?” Pudge asked. “Do you need a hug?”

“Still don’t think you can solve all the world’s problems with hugs, Pudge.” PolkaDot said.

“I can try!” Pudge exclaimed triumphantly.

“I’m fine, Pudge.” Hewitt said. “Just don’t care much for getting dressed up like this. Always makes me feel… Bourgeois.”

“Jeez, Hew, no need to be _that_ harsh to yourself.” PolkaDot said, playfully hitting Hew in the arm with the back of her skeletal hand. “Loosen up for a night. Us proles deserve some fun too.”

“Eh. Fair enough, I guess.” Hew said. “Hey, have you seen my, uh, ‘date’ around?”

“Stink?” PolkaDot asked. “He scuttled off down the hall 10, maybe 15 minutes ago.”

“Wow.” Hew said, placing his hands on the back of his head. “Ditched before we even got to the dance.”

“He just said he was excited to be back in Dallas, which is great because I’m excited too!” Pudge exclaimed with a joyful bounce. “And then he said ‘What’ really loud!”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Hew said.

* * *

Yeong-Ho held Inky’s [normal human hand] as they approached the front of the venue. Two umpires wearing tuxedos in place of their regular uniforms stood on either side of double doors, performing brief visual scans of each arriving guest with the glowing eyes behind their masks. As they passed by and were inspected by the umpires, Yeong-Ho felt Inky cling to him a little tighter.

“You don’t have to be afraid of the umps, Inky.” Yeong-Ho said softly.

“They keep killing my friends. So, yeah, I do.” Inky muttered.

“Annie has kept us safe since she got here. We’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, and how did she get here?”

“Ink…”

“It’s fine, Yeong-Ho.” Inky said dejectedly, moments before a forced smile made its way across his [normal human face]. “We’re at a dance. Let’s have a good night.”

Yeong-Ho felt an overwhelming urge to hug Inky and tell him everything was going to be okay… Which was new. Until recently, he had had a difficult time finding anything to care about in his new reality. But something about seeing Inky Rutledge, his teammate, tense up in fear like that? It made him-

“Look! There’s York! And Juice!” Inky shouted, jarring YHG from his contemplation.

“Oh, nice. Go say hi to your friends, I’m gonna get something to drink.” Yeong-Ho said, gesturing in the direction of the snack table.

“They’re your friends too, Yeong. All the Fridays are.”

“I… Right. Okay. I’ll catch up.”

“Good!”

Inky joyously waddled off into the crowd, the back of his oversized jacket dragging behind him like a cape. Yeong-Ho smiled and admired the space around him as he walked towards the table. A small concert venue, party lights of all variety dancing about on the walls and ceiling, The Garages (the band) playing their hearts out on stage and turning the dance floor into a frenzy as they launch into the chorus of _Fight Gods_ . The crowd itself is a blaseball who’s-who, naturally. From Allison Abbott to Ziwa Mueller. Nobody Yeong-Ho knows that well though, besides the handful of Magic players that decided to come out (YHG makes a mental note that Oscar Dollie is a significantly better dancer than one would assume). Although… Oh _._ He certainly recognizes _him_.

* * *

**Season 5, Day 1**

_Wow._ Hew thinks to himself. _I have never seen a pitcher look this angry and nervous in my life._

Hew could hardly blame the poor guy, of course. He had read the scouting report. Grabbed out of his reality, told he’s a pitcher, thrown out on the mound for Opening Day of the season. Hew raised his left hand to the umpire, giving the signal for time out.

“Uh, hey!” Hewitt calls out to the mound.

The pitcher looks up, startled. Hew couldn’t make out his features well from this distance, except for the glowing eye.

“Look, I hear you’re new at this! Just, uh, throw this first pitch to get it out of your system! I’ll get an out for you!” Hew shouted.

There was an awkward silence as Hew settled back into his batting stance. The pitcher paused for a moment, took a deep breath, moved into the windup… The pitch…

Hew saw the mid-90s fastball careening for the dead center of the strike zone, possibly the most hittable pitch he’d ever seen in his career. But, with enough of a half-hearted swing, Hewitt managed to turn it into a harmless flyout into shallow left, easily caught for the first out of the game.

“See?” Hew shouted on his way back to the Kansas City dugout. “That wasn’t too bad!”

“Yeah, thanks!” The pitcher called back, his voice breaking slightly.

The Yellowstone Magic would go on to win the game 12-5.

* * *

**Season 8, Approx. 2 hours to the Election**

Yeong-Ho walked over to the boy standing against the wall in the corner, holding hands with an excitedly bouncing, friend-shaped creature.

“Hey there, Mints.” Yeong-Ho greeted the two with a small wave.

“Hi! I’m Pudge!” Pudge shouted.

“I know who you are, Pudge.” Yeong-Ho said, crouching down to meet his eye level. “I’m Yeong-Ho, from the Magic. I pitched against you this season.”

“You did?”

“Mhm. You hit a home run off of me.”

“ _I did?!”_

“Yeah. And then Hewitt went and ruined the game by striking out to lose it.”

Hewitt, who hadn’t so much as turned and looked since Yeong-Ho’s approach, responded to this with an unamused grunt.

“Oh! Well I’m sure he tried really hard!” Pudge said, his enthusiasm unhindered.

“It certainly seemed like it.” Yeong-Ho said, looking up to notice Hewitt’s lack of interest. “Hey, Pudge, why aren’t you out there dancing?”

“Hewitt’s date ran off without him, so I’m his date now! And I won’t bail on him no matter how much I want to dance!” Pudge said with determination.

“Hmm… Tell you what, if _I_ were to be Hewitt’s date, you’d be able to go dance and have fun, right?”

Pudge looked down and placed a hand on his chin, thinking hard. Yeong-Ho looked up to see he had finally gotten Hew’s attention, as he looked down with curiosity at this development. Yeong-Ho winked at him and Hew quickly turned away as his face turned red.

“I… We could do that... But only if you promised not to leave him!” Pudge demanded, stomping his foot down.

Yeong-Ho smiled and reached out his hand with his pinky extended. Pudge intertwined it with his own pinky and shook it firmly. Pudge then took Hew’s hand, which he had been holding tightly, and transferred it into Yeong-Ho’s before scampering off to the dance floor. Yeong-Ho stood back up, still lightly holding Hew’s hand. He had never gotten a good look at Hew before, only ever seeing him from the pitching mound or the occasional post-game highlight reel on TV.

 _He’s cute._ He thought to himself

* * *

Hew tries to pull his hand away, causing Yeong-Ho to grip it a bit tighter.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Yeong-Ho asked. “You’re my date now.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Hew said, trying hard to avoid eye contact. “I appreciate the Pudge check but I don’t need a date.”

“After I pinky swore?” Yeong-Ho asked, holding a hand to his chest.

Hew finally looked up at his new date, hoping his blushing wasn’t too obvious. Yeong-Ho of the Magic… Oh! He knew him! From that one time. The… Game. That one game where… Things happened? Jeez, all of Hew’s at-bats kinda blend together for him at some point. But the Magic are good people. Everyone certainly got along when the teams entered Partytime together. He should say something. What is he supposed to say? ‘ _Oh, hi, I’m Hewitt Best, I’m here because the teammate that replaced my crush dragged me here and then ditched me, and also they’re probably both here somewhere so I’m hiding in the corner.’_? But he shouldn’t say any of that because this guy seems really nice and you don’t want to-

Yeong-Ho released Hew’s hand in that moment, instantly causing a pang of regret for being rude about it.

“Sorry,” Yeong-Ho said. “Just messing with you.”

“I… It’s fine. Sorry for being a dick.” Hew responded, returning his head to a hanging position.

“Bad night, huh?”

“I guess. I don’t know why I’m all mopey about it though, worse things happen all the time.”

“I can relate to that. I just have to tell myself: It’s okay to feel however you need to feel.”

“Yeah… Sure. Good take.”

“...You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Of course you do.”

“I- Hey, is that crystal in your eye a lie detector or something?”

“The crystal _is_ my eye, and no. Just a bit obvious.”

Who is this? Why is he being so nice? Have they met? Should he know that? Who told him he was allowed to have a kind smile and look that amazing in a dress? Why can Hew recite the Communist Manifesto word-for-word in three languages but not think of a single damn thing to say?

“Alright, I’m starting to get the sense we both need to blow off some steam.” Yeong-Ho said, extending his hand. “You wanna dance?”

Hew's first response was to say something along the lines of how 'dances' like this are vapid, and the implied social expectations are all part of how the bourgeoisie manufacture complacency in the working class... But instead he saw Yeong-Ho's gentle smirk, and the party lights dancing in their crystal eye. So instead, he mumbled some noise that approached a ‘Yes’ and blushed while he was led to the dance floor.

Something about dancing with Yeong-Ho... The fluidness of his motion, the way all the oxygen left the room when he got close, how he would put a hand on Hew’s face and turn it back towards him if he ever looked away without losing the rhythm of the song. It was… Intoxicating. Exhilarating. Disorienting. Like the entire world had been flipped upside-down.

Hew felt like he was holding his own, at least. When the music is fast and you can just move without too much time to think he’s a pretty good dancer. As long as they don’t-

* * *

The song ended and the band softly drifted into _In the Feedback (Night)_ , and Yeong-Ho saw as Hew visibly tensed up and looked at the stage with a borderline-horrified expression. Yeong-Ho took a few steps forward, and gently interlaced his fingers with Hew’s.

“I, uh,” The Mints batter stammers. “I don’t really… Slow dance…”

“Don’t, or don’t want to?” Yeong-Ho asked.

“No, no, I want to, I- I mean- Boyf tried to teach me one time and I-”

Yeong-Ho slowly moved in closer as Hew’s words trailed off, coming to a dead stop with a sharp inhale as their bodies met and they started to slowly drift back and forth together. Hew was still a bit rigid, and his feet seemed to be trying to stumble over themselves, but he was doing fine.

“Hewitt,” Yeong-Ho said, close to his ear. “If you’re uncomfortable, I can stop.”

Hewitt stammered something unintelligible, which Yeong-Ho took as a sign that he had overstepped his bounds. He started to pull away and apologize, but to their surprise found that Hew started to cling tighter in reflex.

“No.” Hewitt managed to parse out. “Please stay.”

“Are you sure?” Yeong-Ho asked.

“I’m positive. I’m just not very good at… Any of this, really. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’ve been told I can be a bit much.”

“You’re not, you’re perfect, I’m j-”

“Perfect?”

“Uh… I… What?”

Yeong-Ho chuckled as Hew’s face turned bright red. They held each other tight, and the rest of the room melted away…

The end of the song was like being awoken from a pleasant dream by a loud alarm clock. A sudden crash as the crowd cheered for the band. Hew and YHG locked eyes for a moment, breathing deeply.

* * *

**Season 8, Under 1 Hour to the Election** **  
**

With less than an hour until the election, the band finished their set and the stage was reorganized to accommodate a projector for watching the election results live. In the meantime, a playlist organized by the Miami Dale’s Raúl Leal was put on over some obscenely large speakers (also provided by the Dale).

Hew and Yeong-Ho had, at this point, snuck out and found an optimal spot to scale the building. They had already been laying on the roof, stargazing and talking for some time when they felt the building start to vibrate.

“I- Woah.” Hew said. “Dale?”

“Dale!” Yeong-Ho exclaimed.

“Heh. Election must be getting close if they’ve gone to the playlist… How long have we been up here?”

“Eh, a little while. I’m in no hurry, though.”

“Right. Me neither.”

There was a pause.

“Do you… Uh… Really not recognize me?” Yeong-Ho asked.

“Aw crap.” Hew responded. “Should I?”

“You were the first batter I ever faced.”

“Really? When was this?”

“Season 5. Day 1. You got out intentionally for me.”

“I… That sounds familiar. I’m sorry I don’t remember better.”

“It’s fine. That’s blaseball. All the at-bats start to blend together at some point.”

“Is it like that for pitchers too?”

“Not really. When you’re out there the whole game you can’t help but remember everything that went wrong in excruciating detail.”

“Ouch. When I ground out I just… Walk back to the dugout and hope I didn’t cost us the game.”

“Well, when you mess up on the mound you gotta stay out there ‘til you’ve cleaned it up. Harder to shrug off.”

“But, wait, you said all the at-bats blend together?”

“They did. When I was batting.”

“Oh. Reverb?”

“Election junk.”

“Wow… Do you miss it?”

Yeong-Ho turned to his side to look at Hew, resting his face on his hand.

“I miss…” Yeong-Ho said, pausing for a moment to find the right words. “Feeling like you were part of the team, instead of responsible for taking care of it.”

“You don’t feel like a part of the team anymore?” Hewitt asked, similarly turning onto his side.

“When you’re in the lineup, you’re part of the team, and you have to work together. Someone is on base? It’s your job to get them farther. Bases are empty? It’s your job to set up whoever is next. It feels more cooperative. When you’re pitching… Sure, you can trust your defense to pick up a _little_ of your slack, but the game is in your hands. If you have a bad day, the whole team has a bad day.”

“You don’t feel like the rest of your team is there with you?”

“Yeah! That’s how it feels. I feel… Alone. Like everything is resting on my shoulders.”

“...Is your team unionized?”

“What?”

“You know, like, in a union? A cooperative, parallel power structure for workers to organize and push for their interests in solidarity.”

“I… Guess not? Never heard of it.”

“You’ve really never heard of unions?”

“I guess they’re not a thing where I’m from… This is, what, a team building thing?”

“No, it’s- Look, I’ll lend you a book. You know who Karl Marx is, right?”

* * *

**Season 8, Under 1 Minute to the Election**

****The music fades out and the projector starts, displaying the BNN live coverage of the Election on the large projector screen. The crowd turns to face it, all noise brought to the level of quiet murmuring. This is the fourth Election Yeong-Ho has seen since being brought to this reality, and for the fourth time he feels an incredible tightness in his chest. He knows how quickly this can (in his case, literally) flip your world on its head. He took a very deep breath, then noticed Hew nervously inching closer to him. He reached out to grab his hand, but suddenly felt a large hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Yellowstone batter Oscar Dollie.

“Hey, kid,” The large goat-like player said softly, “Have you seen the dads around here?”

“Hey, Oz. Uh, Presto and Bradley? I didn’t know for sure if they both made it.” Yeong-Ho answered.

“I saw them around here earlier. Bevan told me to keep an eye on them.”

“Bevan asked _you_ to do something?”

“I thought it was weird too.”

“Is… Something wrong?”

“I dunno. Far as I was aware Bev can’t see the future, but he told me to ‘make sure the dads were okay’ around this time.”

“Damn. That sounds serious. I’ll help you look for them.”

Yeong-Ho turned to Hew.

“I caught some of that.” Hew said. “You have to go?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry.” Yeong-Ho responded. “You can come with, if you want?”

“Nah, I should catch up with the other Mints. I’ll see you around, though?”

Yeong-Ho leaned in and gave Hew a playful kiss on the cheek.

“I certainly hope so.” The Magic pitcher said before disappearing into the crowd behind

Hew rested his hand on his face for a moment, before looking up to see 30 seconds left on the timer. He scanned the crowd for any teammate, and caught a glimpse of Winnie Hess in the distance. He made his way through the crowd and found her standing alongside PolkaDot Zavala and the Guerra twins, Atlas and Eizabeth.

“Hey everyone.” He said.

“Hey, Best.” Winnie responded, eyes locked on the screen. The rest of the team gave him a quiet wave.

“How’s the team feeling?”

“Well, we’ll see what Parlamint went for this time around.”

The clock hit zero seconds, and the broadcast went dark for a moment as it often does. The air left the room. The lights flickered.

“What… What’s-?” Hew heard to his side.

The Mints turn in shock to Atlas being enveloped by a pitch black cloud of smoke. Hew turns back to the screen to see the announcement.

_Party Line blessed the Kansas City Breath Mints_

_-A Duplicate of Moist Talkers pitcher Mooney Doctor was created by the Breath Mints._

_-Mooney Doctor II takes the place of Atlas Guerra, who retreats to the Shadows._

  
  
“No!” Eizabeth pleaded, reaching out to grab her twin but passing right through. “NO! Don’t leave me!”

Winnie Hess moved up and embraced her crying teammate, offering whatever platitudes she could muster.

“Damn.” PolkaDot muttered. “At least it’s just the shadows, right?”

“Right...” Hew said. “Should we say something?”

“...What could we say, Hew?”

PolkaDot let out a frustrated exhale and turned back to the projector, trying to block out the various other cries of shock that were popping up around the room. Hew had never seen PDZ this… Cold. It reminds Hew why he spends Election Day alone. It seems to bring out the worst in everyone.

“Hey, check out the Wings.” PDZ said, nodding towards the projector.

_Divisional Swap blessed the Mexico City Wild Wings_

_-The Wild Wings swapped into the Mild High._

_-The Breath Mints were swapped back to take their place in Mild Low._

“Looks like we’re seeing the Shoe Thieves a lot more.” PolkaDot said.

“...And the Magic.” Hew noted quietly.

Given the general mood, Hew couldn’t help but feel guilty about his sudden burst of excitement.


End file.
